Marital Pursuits
by Anime Monkey Girl Fan
Summary: It's not easy being royalty. Mausinger can attest to that. Fortunately for him, there is always a dear friend who he can turn to for much-needed support. Inspired by Power Optix's MausingerxRatja OTP challenge.


"We're in for another late night, are we?"

Mausinger lifted his head from the parchments. "One of many for the foreseeable future, I'm afraid."

Under Ratja's one arm was the tray used to deliver the rat king his dish. An eventful day ensured that he would be taking his evening meals in his study. "Do you want me to fetch you anything else from the kitchen?"

"No, this is quite fine, Ratja, thank you." As he knew she wouldn't be satisfied until she saw him putting food into his stomach, he sipped from his soup. He didn't realize just how badly he needed it until after some consumption.

"Please do extend my compliments to Mr. Pawson, Ratja. I would give them to him myself, but . . ."

Ratja frowned. "Your advisors are not letting this go?"

"Truly an understatement," Mausinger said, replacing his spoon for his quill. "If I had known what exactly Leonhard was being put through with this nonsense, I would have been far more sympathetic to his plight."

"I'd hardly consider marriage nonsense," the mouse maid said. "It has a great share of responsibilities."

"Indeed, it does," he said with a sigh. When it was first brought to his attention months ago, he immediately sent out a messenger to Evermore to try to come to a less headache-inducing solution. He'd not shirk in his duties by any means, but he thought it best for one of Evan's descendants to take over Ding Dong Dell's throne when they came of age. It'd be theirs by birthright.

But Evan opposed it. Mausinger may not have royal blood, but he was considered royalty now. Evermore would be the Tildrums' responsibility now. If any bloodline should then continue in Ding Dong Dell, it should be with the rat king's. His advisors have since then been scrambling to find him a bride, under the belief that the window for ensuring a future heir was rapidly shortening. He was still grumbling over that (he may not be a spring manticore anymore, but he was not that old).

"They haven't found any candidates?" Ratja said.

"None so far, but trust me when I say that Meowando and the rest are looking. I dare say they are even losing more sleep than I am some nights. I am certain that they would appreciate your hospitality as much as I do now."

Concern etched her face. "Have you been losing sleep?"

"Not much more than usual."

"You look more tired than usual, Otto."

Ratja—always able to see right through him. Mausinger wasn't sure whether to be exasperated or chuckle.

Trustfully, the idea of settling down was leaving him restless. He never married nor had any children, as he was more driven in his young adult years to improve relations between grimalkin and mousekind above all else. He would have seen himself remain unwed and childless if it were still within his power.

Power he no longer had as king. Quite ironic.

"I prefer to look at it this way," he said. "Few value sleep until it is harder to come by. In that regard, I consider myself to be one of the very lucky ones."

His attempt at levity only gave her cause to deepen her brow. Discomforted by her gaze, Mausinger returned his to the desk and pretended to be engrossed in his work.

"It is not my intention to cause you concern," he said. "I need not burden you with my troubles."

He hoped that that would be the end of it, but the sound of a moved chair suggested otherwise. Ratja sat down beside him, the tray put off to the side. This close to each other, he caught a waft of her usual perfume.

"What is really bothering you, Otto?" she said. "It can't be just about having children of your own."

That part was keeping him up at night, but Ratja was right. There was more to it than that. He sighed and closed his eyes.

"Do you remember Lady Charlotte?"

Ratja considered it for a moment. "The Court's daughter? Wasn't she betrothed to Leonhard?"

"The very same. Seldom did I ever see them in each other's company, but when they were, I couldn't help but notice this. . . distinct lack of enthusiasm when they were together." It was not hard to understand why on Leonhard's end. The grimalkin noblewoman had been excruciatingly vain and spoiled. The only reason the engagement existed was because of their fathers.

"What a difference it made after he met Evelyn," Ratja said, giggling. "Do you remember the parade, Otto?"

He laughed. "How can I forget? There was not a single person that day who didn't see him make a complete fool of himself." During said parade, Leonhard had spotted Evan's mother in the crowd . . . and, well, miscalculated his next step. This transpired four months before the royal wedding.

"The uproar he later caused with the announcement that he was marrying Evelyn over Charlotte was . . . quite legendary. My head is still throbbing from it."

"The staff sure was relieved."

"As was I. We were very fortunate to have had her as our queen, rest her soul." His good-humor fading, he crossed his arms. "It may be far behind us now, but I can't help but give Leonhard's former engagement more thought."

Ratja blinked. "How do you mean?"

"Imagining the alternatives, I suppose," he said, spreading a hand. "On what could have been if Leonhard had prioritized tradition over his heart. They are ill-conceived, mind you, as I do not come across any scenario where Leonhard would have been happy with Charlotte. But . . . still, I continue going over the possibilities."

The mouse maid sat quietly for some time.

"You want to imagine an outcome where you and your bride-to-be will love each other."

He gave a sad smile. "However unlikely that seems."

She placed her hand on top of his. "You don't know that."

"But I do."

"And just how exactly?"

He shook his head. "Come now, Ratja, you're smart. Even if my bride hailed from the farthest reaches of the world, do you really believe that she will be oblivious to the talks surrounding me?"

"And why should that matter?" Taken aback by the sudden anger in her voice, the rat king blinked. She seemed just as startled by her own bluntness, as her white cheeks flushed.

"I mean . . . what I am trying to say is that you're a changed man, Otto. A good man. Any woman with a good firm head on her shoulders would see that. And whoever it is your bride turns out to be . . . I believe that you will make her very happy."

There was a void that was left behind by her declaration. It was not just her words that surprised Mausinger, but her behavior. She was clearly fighting to suppress it, but the glow stayed in her face, like a nagging fever (although the pink wasn't too unbecoming on her, he should add). In all the years that they've known each other, he had never seen her look so flustered before.

Eventually, she took her hand away.

"I should be getting back to the kitchen," she said.

After some hesitation, Mausinger said, "Yes, of course. As you were, Ratja."

She replaced the chair and retrieved her tray. As she turned to leave, however, she stopped and looked over.

"It will be all right, Otto," she said. "I promise you that."

_History repeats itself, _Mausinger mused. They both passed on that same reassurance to Leonhard when he was first considering marrying Evelyn. He chuckled.

"It's times like these I think I should have appointed you as one of my advisors, Ratja."

She smiled. "Good night, Otto."

"Good night."

The mouse maid left. Mausinger's gaze lingered on the door, one hand stroking his goatee.

How someone like her can be so persistently optimistic—truly, she was a marvel. He would pity the men who were unsuccessful in courting her over the years, as they never quite measured up to her stature . . . not that he was so self-conceited that he thought he could, but . . .

His hand froze. Surely, his mind didn't stray there just now. Surely, it didn't. Him and Ratja? It was . . . it wasn't an unpleasant thought, per say, but why even consider it? That is, unless he . . .

An hour of deliberation, an hour of unattended work, the first sound to replenish the chamber was not a scribbling quill nor the rustling of parchment, but the indisputable sound effect of a hand smacking into one's forehead, as its owner came to the realization that he really was following in an old friend's footsteps.

"Confound it all, Mausinger."


End file.
